


i just might have a problem that you'll understand

by painting



Series: Umbrella Academy [15]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Common Cold, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-08-11 01:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20145460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painting/pseuds/painting
Summary: On October 7 of 1970, Klaus falls asleep with a scratchy throat.





	1. orange

**Author's Note:**

> had to write something sweet for once

Dave stares at Klaus and his puffy smudge-lined eyes, scans down his face and rubs his thumb horizontally across his cheekbone. Klaus frowns and Dave kisses the spot just below his pulsating temple. Klaus blinks hard and breathes through his mouth.

"Sorry you don't feel good, sunshine," he says, voice glowing angelically with authenticity. Having his own discomfort acknowledged make Klaus feel so taken care of that he could crumple into a heap on the floor without the risk of being stepped on, or throw himself off a cliff and know that he has a net down below. "You want to stay home today? You look like you could use the rest."

"No, no…" Klaus says through the pressurized sludge inside of his face. "The moms want me to help out with that Halloween costume thing at Nancy's. I think they think I'm one of them."

"I think they have a crush on you."

"Can you blame them?"

A tree outside sheds its leaves. They rustle together as they clack against the bedroom window.

When Dave kisses him, Klaus rolls over to his side so he can get a better angle and nuzzle into him properly. It lasts less than a minute before Klaus needs to break the kiss just so he can breathe, and he dips his head down and tucks it underneath Dave's chin once he's come up for air, nose against Dave's clavicle. He sniffles while Dave soothingly hushes him and rubs his back.

"You're running a fever, Klaus," he says, sounding like he's disappointed in the world for doing this to them. So is Klaus. He groans.

"You're just used to me being freezing cold," he says, "but my lover is a furnace and I just spent ten hours cuddled up next to him under a pile of hideous quilts, so…"

"I wake up next to you every day," Dave says. "I know what temperature you're supposed to be."

Klaus doesn't argue, but he does slip a hand in between Dave's chin and his own face to catch a sneeze.

Instead of recoiling or acting grossed out or even offering a cordial 'God bless you', Dave kisses the top of his head and says, "You poor thing."

"Maybe I should stay home," Klaus says, and then he decides, "no, fuck, sorry, no I shouldn't. That's going to be so boring."

"I could call in, too," Dave offers.

"No, I need to be out today," Klaus says. "I'll be fine, I just need to do something. It's…"

A hard month for him, he doesn't say. October's rough for a lot of reasons, but as it nears Halloween, Klaus knows he needs to brace himself.

"Okay," Dave says, infallibly void of judgment. He believes Klaus without needing to understand. "It's okay."

Klaus barely has to do anything. Maybe Dave is the real psychic, sensing tension and apprehension and self-consciousness in Klaus before he even has the opportunity to express himself. He squeezes Klaus in closer and reaches over to tuck the blanket around his shoulders. Klaus has never met anyone like him.

"Will you let me get you some medicine, at least?" Dave asks. "You liked the Pertussin last night."

"Did I ever," Klaus agrees. "Fill me up, Daddy-o."

Dave laughs, finally. "You don't have to talk like the locals, Klaus. It sounds wrong on you."

"Well, excuse me for trying to fit in."

"Just be yourself." Dave kisses Klaus near the corner of his mouth before he rolls out of bed, then leans down to kiss him again. One more time does the trick, because sometimes it feels like neither one of them will ever possibly be able to have enough. "You're fitting in just fine."


	2. brown

Klaus doesn't know what they did -- what they  _ do _ \-- with schizophrenics in the nineteen seventies.

He isn't going to talk about the effects of his powers in so many words, obviously, because attesting to seeing and hearing things that nobody else does will give him a label he doesn't really want. Dave knows about what happens in his world, to an extent, but Klaus doesn't want to drag him down into the horrifying pit of details, and it's far more comfortable for everyone if he pretends it isn't happening at all. The town they live in isn't old  _ or evil _ enough to be haunted by too many spirits, anyway, and sharing a bed with someone helps wonders for Klaus in evading the nightmares.

But that doesn't mean they never show up, and the crotchety old lady prowling the streets in broad daylight to scold homeowners in the neighborhood for their Halloween decorations is getting hard not to respond to.

"What's wrong?" Dave asks him as they stride in synchronization down the level and featureless sidewalk, the autumn air just barely warm enough to justify walking to work instead of driving this morning. He touches Klaus on the shoulder, strong palm curling all the way around his upper arm, and rubs his hand up and down. It makes an arrhythmic swishing noise against the furry material of his jacket.

Klaus shivers and says, "I'm good."

"You don't always have to be good," Dave reminds him, a gentle way of saying  _ no, you're not _ without the brash contrast that comes with that kind of confrontation. That's never been his style. His thumb stops and the pressure of his hand grows heavier, and with heaviness comes warmth. Klaus moves in closer.

"I'm fine," he repeats. "Just sick. But fine."

He supposes he should be used to ghosts startling him by shouting his name or wailing for help out of nowhere, even ones he'd optimistically assumed hadn't noticed him yet, but Klaus jumps anyway when this one follows the same M.O. as all the others and emphasizes to him that optimism is the elixir of fools.

"It's okay," he says, hoarse and shaky, before Dave can try asking after him again. Nancy will probably have a pot of joe ready when he gets to the store, which won't be sufficient in getting the judgmental spirit to disappear but might take some of the edge off. Maybe he can even get her to make him a hot toddy if he sounds sick enough.

He tries sniffling to see what he'll have to work with, and barely any air gets through, squeaking and grating along his uncomfortably swollen and stuffed up sinuses. Dave squeezes Klaus closer to him as they walk. Klaus sniffles again.

"Are you seeing a lot of shit today?" he asks. "You can probably tell someone about it, you know. Even if you don't think they'll believe you." He grins. "Not much going on in this town; people might get excited about a little haunting. I bet Nancy would love the business."

"I used to do that!" Klaus says. "You'd be surprised at what people will pay if they think you're talking to their dead relatives. They'll give you more if you tell them what they want to hear."

Dave laughs and says, "Klaus, that's horrible."

"What's horrible is going a day and a half without so much as a puff off of a generous soul's skimpy joint," Klaus says. "The rich and grieving pay good money for answers, even fake ones at the behest of the spirits themselves. It's astounding."

It had been kind of fun telling people the exact opposite of what their hauntings had wanted him to say, knowing the ghosts wouldn't be bothering him anymore after a short trip to one of his favorite bridges or back alleys. They used to get so mad, and their angry energy did plenty to keep him awake when he needed it.

He doesn't have to do that anymore, but absently, Klaus considers it as he unfocuses his eyes toward a cluster of bedraggled shrubs in the Crawfords' front yard. It might not be such a bad idea to if he wants to make a little extra cash.

His neck gets hot when Dave's hand travels to cup around the back of it. He gets goosebumps -- the nice kind, for once -- when Dave strokes his thumb along the nape.

They slow down. Klaus swallows and winces and listens to the crows.

"I think they'd lock me up or something if I told somebody I was seeing dead people," Klaus says after they've gone down another half a block, out of the neighborhood and onto the street with two diners and a drugstore.

Dave, too gentle to growl, hums disapprovingly, lowly, as though to tell Klaus that nobody would dare. "They might just think you're shell-shocked," he says.

Klaus shrugs. He's used to people thinking he's a lunatic. All he says back is, "Yeah, maybe," and then spends a long time clearing his throat because that might keep him from talking too much more about the life he's trying to forget and the one he wants to avoid. It's not like him to plan for his future, but Dave is inadvertently prone to getting Klaus to break his bad habits.

As they near Nancy's pawn shop, Dave says, "I know you don't want to talk about it, but I can tell something's bothering you."

Klaus frowns and waves him off.

"I want to listen," Dave promises, "if you'll let me."

It sucks that none of the myths or magic or traditions work when it comes to fending off spirits. White candles, sage smudging, purifying crystals, rose water sprayed in every room, crosses hung up on the walls -- Klaus has seen just about each and every last desperate measure employed in one way or another and absolutely nothing works, but he still finds himself wondering whether he could get Nancy to hang some sort of distraction on her door so the ghost won't follow him inside.

Sometimes people bring in haunted objects and Klaus has to really put his all into reselling them, but it hasn't happened in a couple weeks, knock on wood, ha ha.

While it might not be the case with anyone else on earth, Klaus doesn't bother lying to Dave. He learned a while back that he can't get away with it and, more importantly, that he doesn't need to.

"Maybe one day," Klaus says. "Not today. Sore throat."

One of the first things Dave said about Klaus behind his back was that he was funny. Someone else told him about it at camp. When he laughs this time, Klaus feels handsome and loved and assured, like he and Dave have their own language underneath the existence of words, like Klaus doesn't have to speak his mind because Dave takes the time to read it. His aversion to honesty, to directness, doesn't hurt him with Dave like it has with the others. Klaus still can't figure out why.

"Ask one of the mommas at work to make you a cup of tea, sugar," Dave says, and Klaus kisses his residuary smile. "I'll see you in a few hours, okay?"

"Mhmm." Klaus leans on Dave's arm to say goodbye. "See you, hot stuff."

"That's a new one," Dave says. "Try saying 'foxy hunk'."

"Oh, you'd just love that, wouldn't you."

Dave's expression changes, almost like he's crumpling, features quizzical like he's frustrated and unsure of what to do. He breathes out and kisses Klaus with a familiar, passionate desperation, just right there in front of the cookie-cutter box homes and dying grass and nesting squirrels and everybody. It doesn't last long enough.

"You're gonna get me sick," Dave says, lovingly.

"Yeah, well, you deserve it," Klaus replies. 

"Suppose it's worth it." 

Klaus tugs on Dave's hand, and Dave lets go to feel his forehead one more time.

"Go home if you feel dizzy or get a headache or something, Klaus, please," he says.

"Oh my god, Dave, it's okay," Klaus says. "It's just a cold. I'm all right. I promise."

Dave sighs, frustrated, and says, "You didn't have a fever last time you got sick."

"Things change," Klaus says. "Now _please, _no more trying to get out of going to work, _ma chéri,_ _mi amor,_ I know you're only out here using my health to stall."

"I'm not!" Dave insists.

Klaus realizes he'd stopped noticing the vengeful holiday-hating spirit for a couple of moments, and now that she's back, he probably needs to separate from Dave to keep from getting used to the distraction.

With a terribly heavy heart, Klaus lets his lover go and spins around to float himself off toward the store. Nancy greets him with a twinkle in her eye and a glass of sherry in her hand.


	3. red

Klaus has never been great at keeping his thoughts to himself, and that's why he groans when he drags his feet along the scratched wooden floors in his place of work before he drifts to the coffee pot at the back of the store. Nancy clicks her tongue, tutting at him in dry, ironic sympathy.

"You got a hangover, sweetheart?" she asks.

He must really look awful. Klaus avoids the clouded and flamboyant mirror hanging crookedly against the crowded east wall and says, "I _ wish. _"

"Well, listen to you!" she replies, exuberant and high-pitched as though she's praising him for falling ill. "A bad cold, then, sounds like."

"Yeah," Klaus says. He clears his throat and pours the vitality juice into a styrofoam cup.

Nancy's nails clack against the glass counter top, one-two-three-four, over and over again for a couple cycles like a percussive intro to a song that hasn't been written yet. "I was wondering why you were so quiet yesterday."

"What, you didn't assume I was deep in thought? Shame on you for thinking so little of me, Miss Nancy, I'm hurt."

Tea would have been better. The bitter acidity of coffee burns and stings and Klaus shuts his eyes tightly as he swallows it, as if that'll help the pain. He coughs, just once, as he sets the cup down.

"Damn. You really are sick," Nancy says. "You want the day off? Let your man take care of you a little?"

"Nah. He'd have to call a sub." Klaus coughs again and grabs the tissue box on the back table so he can bring it up to the register for easy access. "I'm fine. It's seriously just a cold."

"Well, don't give it to me. It sounds horrible."

"I'm actually having a ball over here, in case you couldn't tell."

"I bet you are."

Nancy lets him hang out in back for a second and survey some of the newer merchandise that they have yet to put on display. It's mostly weird trash, like up-cycled art projects or dolls missing body parts, but there are also a lot of lamps shaped like desert animals and a good collection of A-line dresses that look like costumes Mom would have worn. For a fleeting moment, Klaus reminisces and almost misses her.

"You wanna start sorting through those?" Nancy asks to bring him as close to earth as he can get. "I was thinking about turning some of them into costumes."

"Uh-huh," Klaus stammers, then he needs to sneeze, so he does, twice into his right hand with exuberance, which he discovers isn't the best idea because he's about to be touching a bunch of old things that they plan on selling to even older people.

His boss doesn't seem to notice that part, because all she says is, "Bless you, honey."

"Thank you," Klaus says. He sniffles. Then, by reflex, he adds, "Dusty," as though the reason he's actually sneezing is still a secret. Nancy notices and laughs at him.

The morning mists by. Klaus sneezes several dozen more times (probably. He doesn't count) and nearly loses his voice trying to barter with a young man selling a pile of tapes that are absolutely, doubtlessly stolen. Nancy takes over for him twice so he can cough and have another drink in the back room, and by lunch time, she's totally over it and pleading that Klaus send himself home.

"Sandra's shift starts in an hour. She won't mind taking a little extra work for you," Nancy says while she picks at a slice of leftover pineapple cake sitting next to the register. The last normal thing Klaus remembers her eating is a tuna salad sandwich last month. 

"I would never do something like that to poor Sandy," Klaus says, appalled. "Treated like a grunt at such a young age? Where's the justice?"

"Where's the justice in _ me _having to listen to that cough all day long? Jesus." Nancy scrapes a fork along the edge of her plate. The store is usually slow around midday, which is when Nancy likes to talk. "I don't like making you work while you're sick. Makes me feel like a CEO or something. You sticking around is really fucking with my conscience, kiddo."

While the inside of his face is heavy and itchy and his throat feels like it's coated with a layer of sticky sand, the stage of a cold where Klaus feels shitty enough not to get up out of bed has yet to come, and being in someone's company is better than being sick and alone -- or sick and _ not alone _ but with no one from the physical world nearby to keep his feet on the ground.

"More so than scamming the innocent out of their priceless family heirlooms, I assume?"

"Oh, yeah, baby. Easily."

Nancy smashes part of the cake down with her fork as the front bell rings in a delicate shriek, bouncing off of the crowd of novelties in the shop and turning both their heads to the front. Klaus is sitting with his feet up on a velvet chair near a geology collection and doesn't particularly want to move.

He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and lets Nancy deal with the customer.

"You again?" she says, and that gets his attention. Klaus sits up and shifts forward to center his awareness.

A familiar voice replies, "Hey, uh. I need to get some of my stuff back."

"Klaus!" Nancy beckons.

He stands up with a head rush, prickly warmth around his temples that fades after a moment, and meanders up to the front. His eyes are hot and dry and he needs to blink a few times to orient himself, but he does his best to keep the star sales associate enthusiasm in his voice when he greets cassette thief for the second time today.

"Back for more business, old friend?" he says, and unfortunately it comes out wilted. At least he tried.

The guy cuts to the chase, saying, "Can you give me the Diana Ross back?"

Klaus thinks about it and decides against it. Nancy was on him last week about always giving away free stuff.

"Yeah," he says, "for fifty bucks."

"You're kidding me. You paid me forty for that one."

"Actually, we paid you two hundred. Where'd it go?"

"What are you, my social worker?"

Klaus shrugs, backing up and displaying his palms as he says, "Store policy, man."

This isn't the first time someone has tried to scam them. Thrift shops don't have the reputation now than they'll end up having in the twenty-tens, and there's a stigma and disrespect to them that Klaus has never known before, which means people like this are going to try and take advantage. It's a good thing he's used to people trying to take advantage of him enough to recognize it happening, and unlike before, he now has somebody to back him up when it does.

"I'm not just giving you back something I paid you money for," he says. He feels a little lightheaded, frustrated, and drags his hand up and down his face, rubbing at the front of his skull. "Come on."

He's this close to folding his arms on the counter top and lying his head down on top of them, but he waits until the guy growls about it and leaves. Nancy's somewhere in the back because she doesn't seem to really like talking to customers, despite being a store owner, which is also probably a big part of why she keeps Klaus around with such consistency. He's great at it.

Klaus spends the next hour continuing to organize the dresses into piles of "hideous" or "boring" until Sandra bops her head in. Klaus likes her because she always flirts with him despite being known to only ever go for mondo-masculine jock-type guys and super butch ladies, meaning her tactile playfulness is for entertainment and sport when it comes to everyone else, which Klaus really vibes with.

"Good afternoon!" she chirps, sounding like a Disney princess or Mary Poppins or somebody like that, voice bright and optimistic for pretty much no reason, which Klaus also appreciates, mostly for its mystery. "We make any big sales today? Did anyone bring in anything cool?"

"Nope," he tells her. "Not yet. I think they were all waiting for you to come in before they started unloading their haunted doll collections."

Sandra stops in her tracks and stares at him, eyes widening into poor, innocent little circles. "Klaus," she says, "what's wrong with your voice? Are you okay?"

"I have a cold," he recites. It may as well be his catchphrase at this point. "I'm fine."

"Oh no. I'm sorry," Sandra says. 

Klaus laughs, sort of; it's maybe more like a chuckle because he doesn't have it in him to laugh for real. "Ah. It's okay. How was school?"

She's about a decade younger than him and hangs out at the community college in the mornings, but if Klaus hadn't gone to her graduation party last May he would think she was still in high school. It just seems unrealistic for any adult to have the kind of energy she does. Sandra's a special case.

"I _ hate _ applied math," Sandra announces, swinging her cloth bag onto the glass surface next to the tissue box before she leans half her body over the counter, reaching out for him. "So stupid. Bend down so I can feel your forehead, please."

Because she's so cute, Klaus makes a show of pretending to consider it, then finally lowers himself to meet her halfway as he says, "If you insist, Nurse."

"Oh, god. You're breathing through your mouth," Sandra observes. "You are so sick. Okay, let me feel."

Her palm is chilled from its exposure to October. It feels pretty nice, but Klaus still shudders when it touches his skin.

"Sorry," she says. "You're burning up, buckaroo."

"That's because your hand is freezing," Klaus says.

"Yes, that's right! Then maybe you're not so sick after all."

Klaus straightens himself out and catches a glimpse of the morning's ghost lurking outside the big window by the door. She may not know she's dead, but is too passive aggressive to actually place herself inside of any of the local establishments and actually confront anybody with her disapproval. Klaus feels a cloud of relief at the idea -- that'd be just fine with him.

His Italian isn't very good, but Klaus can probably recognize the Our Father in any language. She does the sign of the cross four times and continues on in her quest of smiting. Or blessing. Or whatever she's doing. Klaus allows himself to refocus on the physical present until she taps on the glass and says his name.

He ignores her and helps Sandra vend an antiquated furniture set to an eccentric middle-aged couple, tension in his muscles until Dave calls the store and asks if he wants to leave a couple hours early.

Yes, he decides, not because he's too sick to work but because he misses Dave and because their house, at his own request, isn't at all dressed up for the holiday and could act as a safe haven until the old woman determines that there's somewhere else she'd rather be.

They always do. For the most part.


	4. yellow

Klaus had never really been taught how to say _ I love you, _ at least not properly, not with any actual sincerity involved, but he knows Dave understands how he feels and Klaus is able to vocalize it back when Dave goes first. It's hard not to feel like the allowance of genuine affection is going to bite him back some day, but he breaks his own rules through watching the man that he loves.

Dave tells Klaus he loves him when he sets a bowl of soup down on their coffee table and says, "I hope this is okay."

Klaus says it back by curling into him while the steam from his dinner fills the air as it cools.

"I'm not as good of a cook as you are," Dave continues, "but I put some fresh herbs in there because they helped you feel better when you got sick in Saigon."

In response, Klaus hums against Dave's thigh. It sounds weird since he's so stuffed up.

"Thank you," he murmurs, voice soft and painful. He doesn't really know what else to say.

Dave does, though, because that's one of his super powers and he's lucky enough to have been graced with the good kind instead of the type that curses your life like Klaus has. He supposes it's better like this than the other way around.

"How about we stay home tomorrow," Dave submits enchantingly. Klaus is surprised by how much relief he feels at the idea-- it's so abundant that he could cry. He was mostly fine yesterday aside from the problem with his throat, and he'd forgotten how quickly these things always seem to come on. "I think you might have the flu, angel."

"No," Klaus says. "No body aches. I don't-- It's all in my head…" He tries sniffling, but the congestion just crackles around and doesn't do anything for him. "I just want to nap all day."

"Only if you let me join you," Dave bargains.

"Yes sir," Klaus says, and his breath gets away from him as it's pulled into a sneeze. He does his best at holding it in, but that doesn't stop him from the jolting shudder that it comes with. In response to himself, Klaus says, "God."

"Bless you." Dave's voice is sympathetic to match the rhythm of his thumb moving back and forth, soothing Klaus as it brushes the sensitive corner between his neck and his shoulder.

Klaus sneezes two more times before he can even respond, then he excuses himself and Dave tilts Klaus' head so it's leaning on his shoulder. Klaus is glad that he rarely needs to initiate touch with Dave, who always beats him to it. It's nice feeling safe in that way, knowing he has a reliable source of connection to the world he prefers to live in.

"Bless you, sweetheart," Dave repeats. Klaus groans. "Why don't you eat something? It'll feel better on your throat and then you can go to sleep."

With the strength of a thousand men, Klaus finds it in him to sit up and gulp down most of the soup Dave had lovingly boiled for him on the stove, wishing he could taste it. He lets Dave tell him about his students and who has a crush on who in the seventh grade-- who knew the guy was a gossip, Klaus always teases when he recounts Dave's stories to the ladies at work-- and rests his eyes until Dave leads him into the bedroom.

Klaus falls asleep fast, but then, with familiarity, he wakes up over and over once midnight passes them by.

It's not his cold that wakes him up, at least not at first; it's true that he's having some trouble breathing and that his body is just _ begging _ him to sit up so he can cough properly, but he's used to his body being at odds with him and is instead pulled from sleep by an accented and ominous calling of his name.

First things first, Klaus leans away from Dave to cough a couple of times off the side of the bed, into a loose fist, the twitch of his lungs making more noise than he'd anticipated and making him worry for a moment that Dave is going to wake up. Every once in a while, when Klaus has a nightmare, Dave stirs just enough to flip over and squeeze him without even opening his eyes. This time, though, Dave stays knocked out.

"Get out of here," Klaus whispers sharply to the spirit, no longer worried about acknowledging her now that it's clear she recognizes who he is. She says something to him that he doesn't understand, but he knows that her glowering isn't a good sign. "Go somewhere else, lady, I can't help you."

She starts praying at him.

"Jesus Christ." What's the word for _ leave _ in Italian? Klaus can't remember. "Uh, _ basta, _ stop it, go somewhere else." Nothing. That might have been Spanish. He'd probably do a better job of translating without a fever. "Enough, okay? _ Cessare, _ shut up, shut up," he says.

Now she's repeating the sign of the cross. Is this a homophobic thing?

"Oh my _ god, _ come _ on_," Klaus says. He's not going to be able to get any sleep. "Please, just…"

"Klaus…?"

Ah, shit. Poor Dave.

"I…"

Well, that's just great. Now she's interrupted his partner's beauty rest with her nonsense, and she seems pretty cognizant of what's going on, unlike some others who seem to be zeroed in on a mission or stuck in a loop, but she's still ignoring his requests and bothering him on purpose. Klaus thought relative sobriety might be easier in a place like this, with less history and more support, but being woken up in the middle of the night by a dead person's unfinished business is an unfortunate reminder of everything Klaus had been hoping he could escape.

"Who's there, sunshine, are you okay?"

"Sorry, sorry." It's fine, Klaus reminds himself. Everything's fine. Everyone's fine. "I'm sorry."

Dave inhales and moves against the sheets, pulling the comforter closer around Klaus and cocooning him in the way that he likes. The murmuring of a Sicilian Hail Mary blurs slightly into the background of his consciousness.

"It's not a nightmare, huh?" Dave says. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Klaus coughs accidentally, then he says, "Sorry." He clears his throat. "Not really."

"It might help," Dave presses.

"There's just someone, uh…" God, it sounds stupid. He sounds crazy. Klaus had forgotten how ridiculous it sounds to normal people when he talks about the dead following him around, especially while sober and without the shield of irony or flamboyant bitterness. "Just standing over there."

"Turn towards me," Dave says, and he helps Klaus flip over and tuck himself back into Dave's embrace. The quick rush of air from the blankets flapping makes him shiver, so Dave squeezes him nice and tight (but never tightly enough).

"On the bright side, I think she died a peaceful death, totally non-violent," Klaus says, muffled by congestion and Dave's shirt. "You know, she looks fine. She's just a goddamn headache."

"Is it hard to fall asleep with the noise?" Dave asks. He's acting like the religious ghost haunting their bedroom is nothing more than a neighbor blasting their music through the walls.

While he considers the question, Klaus lowers his head and cowers under the heavy blankets. The more he thinks about it, the less it's about the noise and more about the distraction.

"No, it's not that," he says. He hears a click and pops his head back out to see that Dave has turned the light on, throwing a dim orange-yellow haze over the room. "Wow. Thanks."

Dave kisses his forehead and says, "What do you want to do this weekend? If you're feeling a little better, we could go to the potluck at Mrs. Marino's on Saturday night. I told her it was a maybe."

"Who else is going?" Klaus asks, hoping Dave will answer fast to fill the gaps occupied by the ghost's judgmental murmurs.

"Probably some of the other teachers, people from the community," Dave lists. "I think a lot of the husbands will be playing poker, if you feel like gambling half a year's salary off of them."

Klaus smiles. "They thought I was cheating last time."

"Weren't you?"

"Of course. But I'm an expert, which means they had no idea. They were just guessing. Thou shall not judge, assholes."

"Or steal."

"But mostly judge. You cheated too."

"I don't know how you're supposed to play with men like that without cheating."

Overcome by warmth, Klaus chuckles, a raspy staccato that snags into an aching cough. Dave pets his hair until his lungs finally quiet down. 

"It's okay," he says.

To say thank you, Klaus swings one leg over both of Dave's. He closes his eyes.

It's getting a little harder to breathe, but for everyone's sake, Klaus pushes forward anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got a lot of almanacs from the late 60s/early 70s today and may not be able to resist typing more and more of these


End file.
